


Kiss Me, Con

by Trista_zevkia



Category: BBC Sherlock, Star Trek, Star Trek fandom
Genre: KoDT, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John introduces Sherlock to slash, and not the guitar player.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me, Con

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chimera-ally](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=chimera-ally).



> There are many people to blame for what follows, so I will simply refer to them as the crack dealers of the Sherlock fandom. The organizers of KiSCon should also take some blame, readers will see why, [ KisCon ](http://kiscon.livejournal.com/) in case you are curious. Also, Sara and the Knights of the Dinner Table belong to Kenzer and Co, along with the overheard bank robbery. So many people responsible for putting this idea into my head, I'm just going to gift it to [Chimera-ally](http://chimera-ally.livejournal.com/). Happy Birthday Chimera!

An early morning shift and an afternoon in a flat without dead things was just the ticket. John was relaxed, comfortable, and hoping Sherlock would come running in with a dose of excitement for the evening. The slamming of the front door brought the phrase ‘be careful what you wish for’ into John’s mind. Sherlock bounded into the room, excitement and confusion fighting it out on his face. 

  
“John! We have a case but I need your expertise.” 

  
“Questionable cause of death?” John asked, already on his feet. 

  
“No.” Sherlock groused as he flung himself at the couch. Only his torso and hips seemed to touch the couch; the rest of him found peculiar uses for empty air and muscle tension. 

  
John sat back down; bracing himself for the insult he knew was coming. 

  
“Pop culture.” Sherlock’s tone of voice made it clear just how stupid pop culture was and how ignorant anybody who knew it was, even as he asked (in his own way) for help with it. 

  
“Can you narrow it down any?” 

  
“I overheard these four guys planning a bank robbery. They’re supposed to meet the brains of the organization tonight. Well, they only called her Sara, but if you saw these four you’d realize she has to be the smart one.” 

  
“My first clue to that was when they let you overhear them planning a bank robbery.” 

  
“Americans, they look like college students and unskilled labors, but they had a good plan, so someone must have provided them with disguises. Problem is, I can’t identify the bank based on their preparations.” Sherlock frowned at the top windowsill, as if that bit of wood was responsible for a grown man not organizing his bank knowledge by how to rob them. 

  
“So you want to meet up with Sara, try to find out which bank and if not follow her.” 

  
“Very good, John. You have once again stated the obvious for the slower amongst us.” 

  
“Keep it up, and I won’t help you with my extensive knowledge of pop culture, which you haven’t even referenced yet.” 

  
“They are supposed to meet Sara after she gets done at a science fiction convention.” 

  
“Really? I don’t know of any sci-fi cons going on right now.” 

  
“Fortunately for you, they mentioned the hosting hotel. Now all you have to do is find suitable disguises for blending in with people who tell each other to live long and prosper.” 

  
“A Star Trek con? Those things are usually huge and over advertised, I don’t know how I missed it.” 

  
“Fascinating as your obsession with pop culture is, can you come up with convincing costumes for us in two hours?” 

  
“Fascinating? Yeah, no problem there.” John was suddenly grateful that Sherlock couldn’t be bothered to look at him; smothering his giggles was making his face contort in what had to be a comic manner. 

  


¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 

  
“Long sleeve shirts and slicked hair do not disguises make.” 

  
John gave a non-committal hum in reply. Sherlock had been steadily complaining about his outfit ever since John had presented it to him. In his efforts not to repeat himself, Sherlock was getting ever more creative in his complaints, but the cab ride would be too short for him to break out into other languages. The clothes were easy, but the hair had taken enough time that John needed an assistant. 

  
A quick phone call to Molly had her running to a store she knew, and the promise of getting to take pictures had promoted prompt, personal delivery. She’d giggled too much to explain, or talk, as she’d helped John put the ears and insignia on Sherlock. A few (hundred) photos and a video later, John and Sherlock had caught a cab. The cabbie had smirked, but not said anything. 

  
They pulled up to a hotel, and even Anderson would have known it was the right one. People in Star Trek uniforms milled around outside, smoking and using their phones. Sherlock emerged from the cab, getting appreciative looks. John joined Sherlock on the sidewalk, and noticed a few people taking their picture. John grinned, knowing Sherlock made a perfect Spock, and hoped Molly had already sent him copies of the pictures she took. 

  
Following Sherlock, and most assuredly not admiring how the cut of the short blue shirt emphasized certain plush features, it took John a few minutes to notice something. This was a much smaller convention than John had ever heard of for Star Trek, and most of the people seemed to be fans of the Captain Kirk era. If it was a con for fans of original Star Trek and the new movie only, it would explain the small size. But curiosity had John moving over to the posted schedule of events. 

  
Sherlock had given John two hours to get them dressed and here, but clearly the con had been going on all day, so John skipped to the current time. A meet and great with the guests of honour, so Sherlock probably figured the American bank robbing expert was one. Dinner at 7, opening ceremony at 8, before the final event of the night. John blinked at the board, trying to remember what that particular abbreviation might mean in Star Trek. John kept coming back to what BDSM meant in relation to sex, which couldn’t be right. Speed reading through Saturday’s schedule, John only had to get to 11 AM to confirm his suspicions. 

  
_11 am. How to write good sex (TOS/reboot)._

  
“Sherlock,” John turned but his target wasn’t pretending to look a zines while sizing up people any longer. A quick look turned into a long look, as several people were sporting Spock’s haircut. Sherlock still stood out as beautiful and perfect to John, in a platonic way, really, so John could find him easily enough. Moving into the ballroom, John saw the blonde Sherlock was talking with. She was dressed as an admiral from Star Trek II, uniform opened to show a patch of white on her chest. She laughed at something Sherlock said, just as John reached them. Her laugh stopped as she looked from John in his gold shirt to Sherlock in his blue. 

  
“Don’t be mad, we were just talking.” She actually looked a little worried, so John smiled at her. 

  
“That’s fine, really. I’m John.” He held out his hand, and she shook it. 

  
“Sara, it’s great to meet you. I was just telling him about some friends of mine and their role playing as bank robbers while I’m here. I have no idea how that came up. Oh, God, I hope I don’t sound crazy, misunderstandings follow me around. But, really, I’d never get between T’hy’la.” 

  
John’s usual protest was on his lips when the word caught up with him. T’hy’la. A made up word from a made up alien race, and it fit so perfectly. 

  
“John?” Sherlock asked, bringing John’s attention to the way he wasn’t reacting. John wasn’t blushing or rejecting the idea that they were together, because this was a definition of them he could accept. 

  
“Sara, nobody gets between true T’hy’la.” 

  
Sara laughed and John giggled, while Sherlock huffed at not being part of the joke. Sherlock slipped away, and John said their goodbyes to Sara. John picked up a informational brochure for Molly before he followed Sherlock out the door. It was a silent cab ride back to Baker Street, but John bet himself that Sherlock would boil over before the kettle, and headed for it as soon as he paid off the cabbie. 

  
“John.” The low rumble started behind him, before the kettle was even full of water. 

  
“Yes, Sherlock?” John turned, patent pending look of innocence on his face. 

  
“What is T’hy’la?” 

  
John waited for a moment, expecting more as he started the kettle. “You’re not going to point out that it’s not a real word or that it’s stupid the learn words in non-existent languages?” 

  
“It meant something to someone, which is where words come from. Besides, it meant something to you.” 

  
“True.” Was all John could immediately reply with. It sounded like Sherlock was interested because John was interested, and wasn’t that a head rush? The kettle finally went, letting John turn away as he spoke. “When Sara said it, I realized how well it fit our situation. In one episode, Spock tries to explain his relationship with Kirk and he uses that word. There’s not a word for it in English, or any other language as far as I know. It means friend, brother, shield, and maybe lover.” 

  
John handed a mug to Sherlock and walked toward his chair. Sherlock followed, face still as he thought about what John had said. 

  
“Maybe lover? How is someone maybe a lover?” 

  
“That entire convention was full of people who think Kirk and Spock were having sex, just like everybody thinks we’re shagging. Lovers if you want them to be, so maybe lover.” 

  
Sherlock stopped before he could drop onto the couch and carefully placed his mug on the table. “Do you think Kirk and Spock were lovers?” 

  
John thought about it, trying to see beyond the onscreen activity as if they were real people. The way they completed each other, and how even the writers had to make up words to discuss what Kirk and Spock were to each other. Epic bromance didn’t even start to cover it. 

  
“Yes.” John started to say more, but Sherlock was suddenly in his lap, eye far too huge for an emotionless Vulcan. 

  
A second of surprise and Sherlock was kissing him. John returned the kiss, arms pulling Sherlock flush with him even as his brain tried to figure out what steps he’d missed here. They were dressed as Kirk and Spock, so Sherlock was really asking if John wanted to be his lover? 

  
Sherlock’s long fingers cupped John’s head and John’s brain went into record mood. No thinking, just absorbing as much of what was happening as it could, so John could replay it later. John opened his mouth and licked at those lips, tasting Sherlock at long last. It was everything and nothing all at once, comfort and excitement, home and adventure. It was the taste of his T’hy’la. 


End file.
